Survival of the Lambs
by Axemen236
Summary: Battered and beaten, a group of civilian ships protected by eight battlestars struggle to make their way to a "fortress world" rumored to harbor survivors. Before they can find this world, they are thrust into a war never before seen by colonial eyes.
1. Prologue

_When the Cylons attacked the Twelve Colonies of Kobold, humanity's greatest achievements had been burned away in a cataclysmic torrent of flame._

_There were survivors however: a handful of civilian ships who managed to escape the destruction unscathed, and eight battlestars—remnants of the ragtag response fleet the colonies mustered up to counter the unforgiving attack. These vast warships, having failed in their duty to protect humanity's colonies from the Cylon invasion, dedicated their existence to guiding the last members of the human race safely through the pitch-black void that is space. _

_Ever pursued by a massive group of basestars with orders to end the battlestar threat and eliminate the civilian population with extreme prejudice, the relatively small group of spacecraft makes its way to a "fortress world" where it is rumored that other survivors have settled. This place of fortitude and safety (should it exist) may be grounds for a ruthless counterattack should there be additional battlestars moored at this world. _

_Despite their beliefs, the Colonials know not what fate holds for them, as the universe is vast and ever changing..._

**Kind of a skimpy intro. Anyway, welcome to Survival of the Lambs! Just a heads up: this fanfic does twists some events around. As you should already know, there are _eight _battlestars instead of our lone wolf favorite, Galactica. Don't worry, she's in there too. Some characters have been deleted, while some characters had to be created to make the story flow.**

**Suggestions are highly appreciated. **


	2. A Horrendous Error in Judgement

**CCS-Battlecruiser **_Undoubting Faith _

The purplish hue of Ortas'Ortum's warship's bridge reflected off of his harness. He stood before the ships primary view screen with his arms folded. Numerous runes and symbols danced before his eyes, filling him with much needed information vital to a shipmaster's role in vessel command.

One rune caught his eyes. His eyes tracked this rune. This rune concerned him. This rune was unnatural—it was not normal.

"You," Ortas said, jabbing a finger at an underling nearest to him. "This rune defines an unknown signal—neither Human nor Covenant, but it may be familiar in some other form. Cross reference the signal with all of the records in our possession. When you are done, report your findings to me."

The underling, feeling embarrassed of not having discovered what his superior had, obeyed. When he had concluded his task, he looked stunned.

"Shipmaster," the underling began, a trimmer in his voice." This signal is completely unknown. It is Human, but its point-of-origin should** not **be possible. It is _behind _Covenant lines. While uncommon for _one _human craft to wander behind our lines—usually one of the cowardly ships the humans call 'Prowlers'— _fourteen _ships is not normal. Eight of the ships' dimensions are odd as well; they are larger than the Human's largest, most powerful craft. I do not know if they are armed, but it is best to assume that they are."

Ortas scoffed. "Is it possible that they are some form of experimental Human craft?"

The underling nodded. "It is very possible. Also Shipmaster, the signal is in motion, traveling roughly 13% the speed of light."

Ortas'Ortum was not one to undermine Humanity's potential; many of fool in the past had made that mistake, and Ortas was no fool. Fourteen ships were a small threat to the vastness of the Covenant fleet—but a threat nonetheless, and threats had to be surveyed, and then if at all possible, destroyed.

**Battlestar Survival Group 1/Battlestar Columbia CIC**

"Admiral, we've got a DRADIS contact on the board." A woman said, putting down her cup of coffee and inching her head closer to the screen before her.

"Is it Cylon? Human?"

"Neither sir," the crewwoman responded. "Unknown classification. She's talking in a code I've never seen before. She's got an unearthly shape as well…kind of like a warped teardrop or something."

Captain Hawk, a seasoned officer of the Colonial Fleet, paced back and fourth. He often did this when concerned, or when he was thinking. This time, the pacing was due to a combination of both. It was highly possible this unknown ship was of Cylon make—a new weapon perhaps. The toasters were advanced, and wouldn't have a problem whipping out something that could catch the fleet off guard and wipe them out without a moment's notice. He was always paranoid of something like that happening one day; they couldn't run forever.

Or perhaps…

No. That wasn't possible. Space is nothing more than a massive blank canvas that could only be painted with two primary colors: Humanity and Cylon. There were no other colors—no aliens. To Hawk, space was nothing more than a lonely place with wolves amongst the stars. Unfortunately for him, the fleet he was a part of was nothing more than frightened lambs with a few guard dogs to watch over them.

"Put the ship on full alert. Notify the fleet. Something tells me whoever that it isn't here to sip tea and eat crumpets."

"Yes sir."

**CCS-Battlecruiser **_Undoubting Faith _

"I have never seen anything like them Shipmaster. Scans indicate that eight of the fourteen ships are armed. They do not appear to possess the standard 'MAC' weaponry human ships retain. Three of the eight warships sport vast numbers of point-defense turrets."

Ortas turned to the underling. "How many turrets?"

"At least five-hundred and fourteen turrets, and twenty-four guns. These ships appear slightly different than their sisters. Also, they appear to not be crafted from the same materiel standard Human warships are forged with. The armor appears to be significantly thicker."

"And the others?" The Shipmaster asked.

The underling manipulated the hologram before his eyes.

"They are considerably more advanced, and more lethal. They are larger than the before-mentioned craft. They sport even more turrets, and, judging by their exterior layout, have more interior room. Besides the information I have provided you, their capabilities remains vastly unknown."

The underling glanced at his hologram image again. "We've detected movement. It seems they are arming weapons. Should we retreat Shipmaster?"

"Interesting." The Shipmaster purred. "And no. Fire a warning shot across that ship's bow. Let us see if their bite is as big as their bark."

The Shipmaster pointed to a ship at random, and the order was executed without haste.

The shot passed over _Columbia's_ bow, but her anger had been coaxed out of its shell. A barrage of missiles and turret fire spewed from _Columbia's_ side like fire from a dragon's jaws, filling the void with streaks of exhaust and other pollutants. The civilian ships, ordered to flee to a safe location, jumped away in blinding flashes of light, while the remaining battlestars ignited their engines and joined the fray, their guns blazing, their missiles roaring towards their target.

The unknown ship stood its ground and allowed its shields to absorb the punishment. The energy shield's hidden grid pattern revealed itself. The high-velocity shells impacted the ship as well, causing the shields to glow ever the brighter.

The shields broke. Ortas'Ortum had jumped the gun. He had made an error—a fool's error. He had underestimated humanity.

The missiles and shells tore into _Undoubting Faith _with an unmerciful viciousness. Her hull began to buckle and crumble. She was taking massive damage.

She began launching seraph fighters in an effort to calm the storm.

The Human ships let loose a swarm of hornets. Hundreds and hundreds of angry hornets.

As the hornets and seraph fighters brawled, the ships continued to hammer _Undoubting Faith _without remorse, while the enemy ship returned fire with her plasma batteries. The plasma locked on to the closest battlestar—battlestar _Athena_— and struck her side. The plate armor, now mangled and dented and partially melted, vented oxygen in large swaths. Some of its turrets had been burned away completely.

_Undoubting Faith, _instead of retreating like a ship with sense would, maximized its engines and began heading straight for _Galactica._ The hornets, having destroyed their foes, concentrated their fire on the incoming ship. They let loose missiles and cannon fire.

**CCS-Battlecruiser **_Undoubting Faith _

Ortas'Ortum looked about him. He gazed at the wrecked walls of his dying ship. Hunks of metal hung from the ceiling, and he could feel the ships internal atmosphere seeping out into the darkness. An explosion rocked the ship once again, sending a dead carcass spiraling across the flooring. The carcass belonged to the underling who had informed him of the new ships moments before. A jagged piece of metal protruded from his chest.

The Shipmaster had not expected this to happen. Combined firepower and numbers were a major factor to consider in the art of war—but to this degree? The simple use of primitive "missiles" and "shells" had brought his ship down. There were no nuclear weaponry utilized, no multi-tonned projectiles that could be propelled at ungodly speeds were aimed at his ship.

He had no time to react—this battle was too much.

As the image of the chosen victim grew considerably larger on the hologram projection with each passing second, Ortas'Ortum wondered if he should have chosen to remain in the Sangheili Armed Forces. At least there he could excel.

The rumbling that was _Undoubting Faith's _engines had ceased its reports. The ship had lost all power, and with it its shields. Its weapons were now also offline, leaving the ship to the mercy of the unknown advisories that lay outside like hungry lions. Ortas'Ortum knew no fear; he was Sangheili, and he would not let his ship slip into the hands of the Humans. He exited the destroyed bridge to rally what remained of the ship's crew. A formable defense had to be mounted.

Perhaps these offshoots of the Human species were weaker than their already frail brothers and sisters.

**Battlestar Survival Group 1**

The battlestars, realizing their enemy was near death and was aiming to ram _Galactica, _ordered their vipers to attack the ship's engines. They succeeded in slowing the ship down to a crawl.

Most of the battlestars began jumping out of the combat zone to join the civilian fleet in case other ships of similar make were prowling nearby, while Battlestar _Alexandra _and Battlestar _Triton _remained behind to analyze the destroyed craft that lay before them. Gathering marines and enough weaponry to fight a way if need be, both battlestars unleashed a combined detachment of Raptors and Vipers.

Six Raptors with a Viper escort were soon inbound for the charred husk. Aboard each Raptor waited a fireteam of colonial marines.

The Raptors focused the lights that sat beneath their noses on the crippled ship. There were no visible entrances that led into the vessel's innards, so each of the Raptors had to attach themselves to strategic parts of the ship. Scans indicated that the ship was riddled with winding hallways, and maintained an oxygen rich atmosphere. It was draining quickly however, and the teams had to work fast. It was decided that they would forgo the appropriate gear to deal with a situation such as this; they had to travel light and fast. CIC estimated that the ship would be completely uninhabitable in roughly two hours.

After what seemed like a millennia, the marines finally managed to puncture the ship's tough hide. The human soldiers, oblivious to the inner workings of the ship, cautiously stepped into the alien spacecraft, uncertain of the dangers that lurked within…


	3. The Colonial Marines

**CCS-Battlecruiser **Undoubting Faith**/Colonial Marines/Fireteam Achilles **

Fireteam Achilles had begun to make their way into a large hall. Hunks of metal hung from the ceiling, and streams of blue fluid leaked from various sections of badly damaged piping that lined the interior of the walls. The halls themselves were the color of violet, which gave the ship a beautiful yet deadly appearance. The alien craft groaned in pain as metal within the ship bent and cracked.

Sergeant Nex, the leader of Fireteam Achilles, was armed with a standard issued Colonial Marine shotgun. Loaded with explosive slugs normally used on heavily armored Cylon Centurions, the weapon felt ideal for this type of predicament. Facing an unknown enemy of unknown origin who possibly possessed some form of energy based weaponry never before seen required the strongest (yet lightest) weapons that could be carried. Only Nex held a weapon loaded with HE ammunition, as the ammunition type was exceptionally rare, and was only issued to Colonial Marines if a battlestar was boarded by enemy forces.

"Eyes up. Watch those corners people." Nex whispered over the tactical comm.

At the front was Nex, while at the rear sat Corporal Baker, a skilled sharpshooter armed with an assault rifle that fired in three-round bursts. She was rather silent, and enjoyed letting her actions speak louder than her words. Private Scape and Specialist Mar, both riflemen, sat in the middle.

The team hit a right, and were suddenly introduced to a score of dead bodies of various shapes and sizes—and from the looks of it—species.

Private Scape whistled. "Looks like we found who we're messing with."

Sergeant Nex slung his shotun over his shoulder and knelt down beside one of the larger creatures. He retrieved a small camera from his pack, and snapped some pictures for the brass to gawk at. Private Scape joined Sergeant Nex in his photography run, while Specialist Mar and Corporal Baker kept watch for an hostiles. When they were done gathering photos, the team went to work on any objects the otherworldly beings possessed. Some held what looked like weapons, while others held various tools of unknown functionality. These were seized and stuffed into plastic bags. One of the weapons was field tested by Private Scape.

Sergeant Nex snatched the hot weapon from Scape's hands. "What the frak are you doing? Quit fooling around!"

Scape, completely oblivious to what his superior was telling him, stared wide-eyed at the gaping hole he had just made using his pilfered weapon. The weapon itself was large and blue, and fired blue objects that held a white nucleus. It was amazing.

Sergeant Nex zipped up his pack. "Move out people, we've still got a lot of ground to cover, and at least an hour and a half to do it."

**Battlestar Survival Group 1/Civilian Ship **_Hope_

"Gods, first _Bezerk_ goes AWOL from the frakking fleet, now this. Damn thing blew a hole as wide as six Vipers through Thrace's left pod. It'll take at least a month to fix, and that's just patch work."

Six individuals sat at a large table forged from steel. The mess hall they sat it in belonged to a small interstellar liner that was just as old as its captain was. The captain had given the battlestar captains permission to conduct a quick and formal meeting there. It was the least she could do to thank them for their defense of the fleet.

In the middle sat Captain Lee Adama, a middle aged veteran Viper pilot who suffered an injury while conducting a routine scouting mission near Cylon controlled space two years prior to the attack on the Colonies. Some say he was the cause of Humanity's plight. Lee held _Galactica_ in his hand, and ran the ship with a cold and incredibly stern mentality.

To the right of Lee sat Captain Hawk, a seasoned officer of the Colonial Fleet. He was a man of solitude, and preferred to tinker away at the numerous models of cars and ships he hoarded in his office. Little about Hawk was known, but _Columbia's _crew did not love him for _who_ he is, but for _what_ he is: A captain.

Seated across the table was Admiral Nea, a woman who preferred to be addressed by her first name for unknown reasons. When questioned about this, she would often change the subject instantly. The secrets she held often kept her crew on edge, and had cast Battlestar _Erasmus _into an age of uncertainty and secrecy. It was an eerie ship to be aboard; paranoia infested its halls like roaches. Some say the battlestar turned good men into scoundrels, and women into harlots.

To the left of Admiral Nea sat Kara Thrace. Out of all of the captains seated at the table, she was the most misunderstood. Like Hawk, background information on her was scarce, but her battlestar was well-known throughout the fleet. It was armed to the teeth, harboring over thirty-two nuclear missiles and millions of rounds of point defense turret ammunition. Her ship had the smallest crew, barely passing the six hundred line, but managed to remain operating throughout the previous months. Kara Thrace's eyes reflected that of an individual who had not seen too _much, _but of an individual who had seen too _little._ Her appearance was that of a crow: strangely attractive, yet exceptionally dark and dreary—and extremely intelligent. _Athena's _crew viewed their leader as strange and distant, but respected her nonetheless.

Beside Kara sat Executive Officer Michel Kane. He was the ex-XO of Captain Fenrir, captain of Battlestar _Bezerk. _When the warship abandoned the fleet to pursue its own agenda, Michel Kane joined the crew of _Athena._ Her captain, William Anchorsten, had instructed him to take his place while he tended to other matters.

To the right of Kane was Captain Saul Tigh, an aging individual whose anger only intensified if something wasn't done right. By far one of the oldest captains, he was the unofficial "leader" of any operations that pertained to the safety of the fleet, or any attack on Cylon forces. _Gladius _was Saul's ship, and it had seen its fair share of action during the First Cylon War.

Normally, all the captains would have to be present for a meeting as important as this, but Saul deemed it necessary to get it underway. The other two captains would be filled in at a later date.

Hawk buried his forehead into his right hand. "Where there is one ship, there's more. What if that craft was a part of a line of experimental Cylon warships? You've seen what it did to _Athena_. If there's more than one lurking out there…Gods, I can't even manage the destruction…"

"Frak that, they aren't Cylon. Too damn odd looking to be Cylon, and there's no way the Cylons would be able to manufacture weapons of that quality in this amount of time. They've only just attacked the Colonies." Saul said. "Besides, it doesn't matter how many of them are out there, our mission remains the same: Find that safe haven—find the fortress world. We'll worry about what those ships can do another time. There's no denying it: They're powerful frakkers, but we can't let one simple engagement tangle up our entire agenda. We've got to stick to the plan."

"But we can't blow it off this one engagement either," Lee interrupted. "We made it out of there alive because there were _eight _of us. We had a good response time, and whoever was captaining that thing made a fatal error in judgment when sizing up our ships. That ship lasted exactly two-hundred and forty seconds, and that's without nukes. You can do a lot of damage in four minutes without nukes, but what if there are more of them? If more of those ships come to find out where their lost pack mate went and run into us again, I don't know if we can swing the same miracle twice."

"And patch ups won't last forever people." Captain Nea added on.

"What if their ships come in different models? What if we cross paths with something with even more teeth?" Lee asked.

Saul leaned forward in his chair. "Weapons don't mean anything if we can outrun them. It's obvious they have some sort of FTL capabilities. Civilian ships are fast, with battlestars kicking up more dust than they could. A lot of you have newer ships that leave the Originals in the dust."

"But there's no way for us to measure—"

"We didn't measure the Cylon's FTL speeds when they were bearing down on us with that basestar armada either," Saul cut in. "We just act. No thinking. Just action. When you're dealing with something as dangerous as that…_thing, _you don't have time to think."

Kara stood up and retrieved a glass of water, then sat back down.

"But what's their motive? Why'd they fire anyway? You'd think they were on a genocidal campaign just like the Cylons…" Hawk asked.

Saul rubbed his chin.

He did not have any answers for a question like that.

No one did.

**CCS-Battlecruiser **Undoubting Faith**/Colonial Marines/Fireteam Achilles **

"Frak me, what is it?" Private Scape asked.

"Hell if I know." Sergeant Nex answered. "But it's big as hell. It's at least twelve feet tall…"

"Gods, look at that armor…" Specialist Mar whispered, snapping a picture with his camera.

The team had taken cover behind one of many metallic pillars that supported several levels of the ship. They were in a hanger, where smaller vessels resided. Prowling around the hanger were many live versions of the aliens the team had taken photographs of moments before. Just like their dead counterparts, these creatures looked like fierce warriors. Some were small, while others were scrawny and bird-like. Others were hulking beasts with four mandibles hanging from the upper part of their skull, while others simply floated along the corridors, repairing anything that was broken with little difficulty.

The team was eyeing a Hunter. By far the biggest and strongest enemy in the entire hanger, the living tank had a colossal plasma cannon attached to its arm with a thick shield strapped to the other. There were at least thirty soldiers in the hanger. Fifteen of them were small, stocky creatures that wielded numerous versions of the pistol-like weapon that sat in Sergeant Nex's pack. Ten aliens held a weapon that none of the Colonial Marines had come into contact with. Pink shards protruded from several holes on its surface. Three of the aliens were eight foot tall giants who wielded the same weapon Private Scape had used to blow a hole in one of the ship's walls. Two of the aliens were the living tanks.

The floating aliens were not paid attention to because they seemed relatively harmless.

The chances of the fireteam engaging the enemy and emerging victorious was zero all across the board.

"This is just _one_ hanger and it's got more frakkers than our entire _force_." Specialist Mars said.

"Damn straight. Let's get the hell out of here. Maybe we can get CIC to nuke this joint once—"

An explosion was heard in the distance—somewhere deeper in the ship. Massive amounts of gun fire could be picked up as well.

"I thought command said no anti-armor weaponry?" Private Scape asked as another boom echoed throughout the ship's halls.

"That must be fireteam Apollo. Bunch of trigger-happy greenies. Gods damn it, they'll hang for this." Mumbled Nex.

The team moved out. Activity in the hanger had intensified. The hornet's nest had been disturbed.

**CCS-Battlecruiser **Undoubting Faith**/Colonial Marines/Fireteam Apollo and Fireteam Sunder**

"Grenade!"

An orb fashioned from metal and packed full of explosive soared through the air towards a mass of hunched over creatures. Most of them dived out of the way, but some of them were less fortunate.

"Hold those big bastards back! Don't let'em get through! Where's that godsdamn launcher!"

The sergeant did not receive an answer; the man he was addressing was dead. A private unleashed an entire clip of bullets into an advancing soldier. They harmlessly bounced off of some sort of field, thudding into a hapless marine who was about to be skewered by one of the larger aliens. Another man, devoid of clips, withdrew his sidearm and opened fire, the rounds puncturing the skull of one of the smaller aliens.

"Everyone pull back! Get back to the Raptors!"

Bolts of hot plasma screamed through the air as the fireteams retreated deeper into the ship. The crew of the enemy craft pursued them relentlessly, firing their weapons with deadly precession. The teams hit a corner and ran straight down the hall. A marine who went by the name of Grey was hit in the back, her body paralyzed from the waist down. Using her arms, she turned herself around and withdrew her pistol. For several seconds, she fired into the heathen ranks of the oncoming enemy in an effort to buy her allies some time. Some merely walked over her, while others took the full brunt of her rounds.

Out of ammunition, the downed soldier threw down her pistol and withdrew something from her belt.

"Here's my will you frakkers."

An explosion could be heard from her direction. She had detonated a grenade.

The Colonial Marines were slowly being boxed in from all sides. The teams had been cut off from one another. Unable to fight as one, the situation was crumbling fast. The survivors had already lost contact with at least three teams—twelve good men lost.

By way of a miracle from the Gods themselves, Fireteam Sunder and half of Fireteam Apollo had managed to arrive at the Raptors. Fireteam Achilles was nowhere in sight.

"Where the hell is Achilles!" one of the Raptor pilots asked.

The only surviving sergeant present threw his pack into the craft. "We don't know. They last checked in about twelve minutes ago. Said something about a hanger or something. I didn't get a good listen in."

"We got jumped," a soldier said, leaning forwards in his seat to project his voice better. "This entire ship is swarming with mongrels. If we don't leave now we're dead. They're right on our heels!"

Alien voices could be heard. They were getting louder with each passing second.

And there was gunfire.

A hail of bullet and shell casings littered the floor as Fireteam Achilles rounded a corner and dived into the nearest Raptor without any consent for safety. Bolts of hot plasma struck the door of the craft, creating singed craters in its hull.

"CLOSE THE FRAKKING HATCH!"

With the surviving teams collected, the Raptors peeled themselves off of the skin of the enemy ship. The Raptors did not bother using their sublight engines to thrust themselves towards the battlestars—they simply jumped—all six of them simultaneously. This jump created a massive disruption that pounded a colossal dent in the already dented ship's hull. The Vipers, unequipped with FTL Drives, roughed it to their nests.

**Battlestar Recon Detachment/ Battlestar **_Alexandria _**CIC**

"Sir, we've got _multiple _DRADIS contacts popping up all around us. Thirteen ships with dimensions matching the ship's our troops just exited from; two ships over _three times _the size of _Alexandria. _They're closing in fast captain. Orders?"

"That broken bird must have squawked," captain McArthur growled. "Spin up the FTL Drives."

Battlestar _Alexandria_, her cargo collected, vanished in a brilliant flash of light. However her sister ship, Battlestar _Triton_, did not jump. She was arming nukes—twelve of them. The enemy ships appeared, their massive bulks tearing through space and time itself. It only took them half a second to realize who was responsible for their fallen comrade's plight: They opened fire.

Plasma lances and laser fire soared towards _Triton_.

The battlestar unleashed her nukes, and then jumped.

**CCS-Battlecruiser **Undoubting Faith

Ortas'Ortum was dumbstruck. These uniforms were not of "Human" make. These warriors did not fight like the other warriors he had bested before. Their weapons were different.

Everything was different. Their ships were different; their language was slightly warped. It was as though Humanity had produced an entirely different breed of human that they had chosen to abandon. Were there more of them? There could very well be hundreds of these "battlestars" prowling the farthest reaches of space. Was it possible they harbored undocumented Demon spawn?

The SPARTANS were by far the most dangerous faction of soldiers he had come into contact with. Ortas could not imagine contending with more of them.

But enough worrying and wondering, he had defended his ship! While it was a small victory against a small force consisting of small creatures, it was a victory nonetheless! Casualties on his part were small. None of his brothers had been lost, only a handful of Unggoy. Even the cowardly and dishonest Kig-yar had managed to escape death and none of these "Colonial Marines" managed to bring down any of the Mgalekgolo pairs.

His crew stood before him, cheering loudly in a chorus of differing tongues. The Prophet of Truth, while searching for Earth, had heeded their call for help. Ortas thrust into his fist into the air, his hand covered by the glove of an atmospheric suit. His crew's cheers grew louder.

Ortas turned his head.

A star's light had somehow entered his ship. It was odd, because they were not near a star at all.

Perhaps one of Truth's ships had pulled up alongside his ship and was going to—

**Battlestar Recon Detachment/ Battlestar **_Alexandria/Captain Richard's Private Quarters _

"It was a close call. We managed to pop off twelve nukes before we jumped—sort of like a little goodbye present from the Twelve Colonies."

Captain Silv Mide and Captain Richard McArthur were holding a private conference over the radio. They had little time to speak however; thirteen minutes remained until the next scheduled jump. Radio contact was impossible while a jump was in progress.

Captain Richard McArthur chuckled. "Well, we're safe now. The surviving Colonial Marines are being debriefed as we speak. We made them take a run in a Decon Shower. You never know what kind of viruses could have been breeding in that thing."

Captain Silv nodded, agreeing with Richard's choice. "So what's the plan now eh?"

"Wait until we complete this series of jumps. We've got about three more before we can rendezvous with the fleet," Richards began. "We gather the other captains and have a sit down with those Colonial Marines—maybe take a peek at the objects they've brought along with them. This'll probably give us a clue of what we're dealing with."

"Sounds good I guess." Silv initiated a long pause, then said, "I honestly felt like my crew and I were goners back there Richards. Two of the ships looked like they could swallow _Triton _up in one gulp."

"I know how you feel Silv," Richard said.

The radio contact was cut. The time for the scheduled jump had arrived.


	4. Squealer's Plight

_**Regret's Carrier**_**/The Prophet of Regret's Fleet**

_**And you are sure that there are no survivors? **_Regret inquired.

"I am positive, Noble Hierarch," the Elite answered. "The ship brought an end to the wounded battlecruiser with twelve, medium-yield nuclear weapons—the same type of weaponry we often face when combating the Human fleets."

The prophet laced his thin hands together in front of him, reclining in the hovering thrown his body rested in. _**You say you that you recovered a fragment of Undoubting Faith's outer shell. Can you induce any knowledge from this?**_

"Yes," the Elite fished a device from somewhere near his waist and held it in his palm. "The fragment is rattled with hundreds of holes where projectiles punctured the hull and continued onward into the inner bowls of the ship." The Elite pointed to several key areas on the holographic projection of _Undoubting Faith's _hull fragment. "Much of this type of damage appears to be the work of the point-defense turrets the Humans often wrap their warships in. They utilize them as a last line of defense against our Seraphs. But…"

_**Yes?**_

"There are larger wounds that this fragment shows—wounds that do not match any known weapon that Human ships carry with them, based on our records. They are too small to be the 'MAC rounds' human ships are armed with, yet are larger than the rounds used by the Human 'Longswords'. Either the ships that preyed upon _Undoubting Faith _are a part of a new line of Human warships employed to wage war with the Covenant, or they belong to an entirely different species altogether."

Regret pondered for several minutes. Most of his assault fleet had been wiped out when the treacherous Humans had destroyed _Unyielding Hierophant. _No doubt the surviving ships in his position would be outnumbered and overpowered when the Human fleet reared its ugly head to protect the precious gem it neutered ever so tenderly. They would be fighting a cornered animal; the Humans would be exceptionally dangerous in this position.

But the promise of a new species for the Covenant to employ? Perhaps if he journeyed to their homeworld and wowed them with the Covenant's power, he could bend them—break them even— and rally their entire fleet to his aid. Perhaps then he would have the strength to overtake the Human world.

But what if they resisted?

What if the aliens grew enraged that an unknown advisory was coming to stamp out their culture and merge them with the Covenant war machine?

The results could be cataclysmic.

But he could coax them into following him into battle. Shower them with gifts even just as the Covenant had done with the Hunters? Surely they were primitive to some degree, and could benefit from Covenant technology?

_**You say the ship left behind a residue of some sort when it vanished, correct? **_

The Elite bowed his head. "Yes Nobel Hierarch. Whatever powers these ships leaves behind some form of inert substance—possibly a gas or liquid of some sort. The substance may have been leaking from the ship itself; it may simply be exhaust from the ship's engines. We do not know. Whichever it is, the substance is easy to track."

_**That is all I need to know. Follow the ship. Make haste. **_

The Elite exited the prophet's quarters to relay the orders to the appropriate crewmen, and then tend to other matters.

Regret moved his hovering throne to the center of his quarters and continued to dwell on the issue at hand.

**Battlestar Survival Group 1**

Battlestars Triton and Alexandria had rejoined their fellow battlestars and the ships they protected moments ago. Other than the vicious scars Triton sported from the laser fire she took before delivering her payload of nuclear ordinance, the battlestars were unharmed. Repairs were underway as soon as the battlestars heaved to drift near one another.

The surviving Colonial Marines who ventured into the ghastly warship were dressed in civilian clothing; their armor and gear was still being analyzed and decontaminated. Fireteam Achilles had been assigned two captains. Fireteam Sunder and the bits and pieces of Fireteam Apollo were being questioned by five individuals. Captain Kara Thrace had refused to take part in any of the questioning sessions.

One of the groups had chosen to roost in Alexendria's left pod, while the other had taken position in Alexandria's eatery. Both locations were devoid of crew members.

**Battlestar Survival Group 1/**_**Battlestar Alexandria/**_**Eatery**

Private Scape, Specialist Mar, Corporal Baker, and Sergeant Nex sat in four chairs that surrounded a table. On the table were four glasses of water. In front of their table sat Captain Saul Tigh and Captain Lee Adama. Adama held a notebook with a pen sticking out in between its pages.

Adama spoke first. "Let's start from the beginning: What did you see in there?"

"The ship's interior is completely foreign sir," Sergeant Nex began. "It's definitely not Cylon; we didn't see a single Centurion or any skin jobs prowling around in there. The ship's crewed by numerous creatures. From the looks of it, they're sentient, as they have some sort of language. We heard them speaking it as they opened fire on us as we tried to make our way back to the Raptors."

"Sounds like they had weapons. What did they look like?"

Sergeant Nex rose from his seat and went over to a cart that held numerous alien objects. Everyone in the room eyed him tentatively, unsure of what he was about to do. The fire team leader retrieved a large, blue object. He strolled back over to his seat and sat down with the object on his lap.

"This is one of the weapons they were using to cut us down sirs," Sergeant Nex began. "It fires some sort of ball of liquid—probably plasma. It melted clean through some of the ship's weaker interior plating when Private Scape thought it best to 'test fire' the thing."

Sergeant Nex placed the object back on the cart. He retrieved several other weapons and showed them to the captains, explaining what each one did. The captains made a note to take the weapons to _Alexandria_'s firing range to get a thorough understanding of them.

Sergeant Nex then showed his superiors two other weapons. One of the weapons appeared to be an oddly shaped variant of a brass knuckle that was of a silver color. The other was round, similar in shape to the grenades the Colonial Marines often used during combat situations.

Sergeant Nex drew forth the brass knuckle and flexed it slightly, summoning forth a great blade forged made up of pure energy. It hummed slightly, with tiny arcs of lightning firing off on the sides of the blade. The blade was split into two sections, like some sort of oversized fork.

"Holy frak…" Saul Tigh whispered, inching his head closer to the weapon to get a better look.

"I held the same expression sir," Sergeant Nex began. "It's some sort of sword. As far as we know, it's carried by only an elite few. The body we plucked it from belonged to one of the larger creatures. It was dressed in white armor, and looked like a high-ranking official. He was killed by a fallen support in one of the ship's many halls."

Sergeant Nex , still holding the massive blade at his side, took a sip from his glass of water.

"They can cut through a wide range of substances as far as we saw." Specialist Mars chimed in.

Sergeant Nex flexed the sword. The blade disappeared in a grand display of lightning. The sergeant then withdrew the small, round device. It was blue, with some form of green symbol on its front.

"These are grenades. They work on the same principle as our grenades, except they're energy based, and actually stick to organic matter and even metal. Once they're stuck, they're stuck. The only thing they leave behind is an ash pile."

When the captains and marines concluded their discussion on the weaponry used by their worthy foes, they moved on to the photographs. The pictures were passed around the room. There were 32 pictures in all, with each one coming with a wide range of questions from the two captains. The Colonial Marines could not answer them all; answers were in short supply.

Three hours had passed since the meeting had begun. The marines and captains were tired of both answering and asking queries. Hands were shaken, and the two groups departed. The captains returned to their ships, while the marines remained on board; they belonged to _Alexandria_.

Each captain save Kara Thrace had obtained a large amount of knowledge pertaining to the enemies they faced. The aliens appeared to be an alliance of numerous species, possessed energy based weaponry, and powerful ships that were protected by strong energy fields. Some their troops possessed personal energy shielding as well, with this personal shielding coming in two varieties: A handheld energy shield which was mounted on the wrist, and an energy shield generated by a set of battle armor.

What powered the alien technologies was completely unknown—most of all the alien ships, which was the largest threat the fleet faced. Perhaps it exceeded the Tylium-based engines the battlestars and civilian ships utilized for space travel. Tylium was an ungodly powerful source of fuel with an abnormally high energy yield—up to six times more powerful than nuclear fusion. While it didn't have the endurance nuclear power possessed, its ability to propel ships farther and faster offset the downsides tremendously.

If their battlestars didn't have the advantage of weaponry and endurance against their foes, perhaps they were gifted with greater speed…

**UNSC Heavy Frigate **_**Undignified Squealer**_**/ Sol System/ Unknown Location**

_Undignified Squealer_'s mission was simple enough on the books, but in reality it was much harder, and was exceptionally stressful for the crew and captain of the frigate. The frigate was tasked with listening for anything "odd"—with odd meaning the Covenant. Normally, a prowler would have been dispatched to carry out this mission; they were better suited for circumstances such as these, where stealth was key and an acute sense of hearing was the sole barrier between life and death.

Unfortunately, all available prowlers were tasked with lacing a good portion of the Sol System with hornet mines, which forced the use of select frigates as recon vessels.

_Undignified Squealer _was headed by Captain Timothy Sinclair II. Sinclair had once captained a Marathon-class cruiser, but was discharged when he struck a superior officer, thus landing him a ninety day sentence and a dinky frigate that was one-third the size of his original ship.

The charge seemed to tame the beast within Sinclair—at least for the time being. Since that day, the middle-aged man has maintained a love-hate relationship with the UNSC.

His frigate was now speeding past Mars. After checking in with the base stationed there, his frigate was allowed to pass into the firing range of the planet's ground-based weaponry. The ship sped on for two more hours until it reached the area where it was supposed to remain. The engines were switched off and _Undignified Squealer_'s "ears" were opened up.

Past recon missions for _Undignified Squealer_ were all the same. Hours of boredom bombarded the crew, and the captain checked and rechecked documents that had to be handed in to some "book boy" once he returned to Earth. Sinclair hated procedures with a burning passion.

But today was different however. Almost immediately after the ship settled down, the ship's A.I. alerted the crew in the bridge that a series of objects of varying size were exiting slip space—_on top of the frigate. _

"Get our drive up and running and get Mars on the horn, we gotta warn the force before—"

**The Sol System**

The battlestars entered the system first one by one. _Galactica _first, then_ Triton, _then_ Gladius, _with the others following suite. The civilian ships entered last. The warships encircled the civilian ships in a nest of armor and weaponry.

Unknown to all save _Undignified Squealer _(which lay beneath _Alexandria), _one of the battlestars had completed their jumps _too _close to the frigate. The result was a series of crimpling blows to the frigate's rear shell and superstructure. Its engines were knocked offline, and the energy discharge from the shockwave had disrupted the ship's targeting systems, rendering the ship's A.I.'s ability to track targets all but useless.

In short, _Undignified Squealer _was a sitting duck. Oblivious to the frigate's plight, the fleet lurched onward towards their rumored destination.

**UNSC Heavy Frigate **_**Undignified Squealer**_**/ Sol System/ Unknown Location**

Captain Sinclair coughed. "Report!"

"System's fried captain," the nearest crewman answered. "MAC gun is disabled. The engineers are working as fast as they can to get it up and running. Mira's down for the count too, but she's running self-diagnostics as we speak."

The captain waved a cloud of smoke from in front of his eyes. "Thank god the emergency power's kicked in, "Sinclair said, looking at the red hue the lights bathed the ship's bridge in. "Guess those engineers aren't good for nothing after all. What's the status on that Covenant fleet? Tell me you got a shot of it before the system went out…"

"Yes sir, I did." The crewman said, pressing a button on his console. "Take a look."

The screen switched from a pitch-black view to a stilled image depicting a cluster of spacecraft. More than half of them were exceptionally larger than most UNSC craft. Sinclair noted several specks on the hull that appeared to be guns, but what really stood out was the clear writing on the sides of the ships.

"What the hell, that ain't Covenant. That's English." Sinclair squinted harder at the image. "What the fuck kind of name is _Galactica_?"

The captain veered his head away from the image and glanced at a woman to his right.

"Put me through to their lead ship. They aren't Covenant that's for sure, and they can't be Insurgents."

The woman obeyed. When the connection was completed, she relayed the information to the captain with due haste.

Captain Sinclair cleared his throat, then began:

_This is Captain Sinclair of the UNSC Heavy Frigate Undignified Squealer. I am a captain of the UNSC Navy, and you have ventured into UNSC controlled space. Without proper authorization, you _**WILL** _be fired upon by outside forces should you continue your current course. My crew and I are not here to bring harm to you, nor are we here to hinder you. Through visual and computerized confirmation, we have determined that you are indeed not Covenant, and that you are most likely Human. _

The frigate waited for several minutes for a response. The ships stopped their advancement. Two of the warships separated themselves from the group, and converged in on _Undignified Squealer_'s position.

"Well here we go…"Sinclair whispered.


	5. Arrival

**Earth/ Defense Grid/** _Cairo _**Station/ Armory**

The Master Chief had just finished running over the basics of his suit's operations. Several small-scale tests for his newly acquired Mark VI armor were also conducted. The gunnery sergeant who had helped run the diagnostics was leaning against a frame that contained a window that provided a view over Earth. A clipboard was in his hands, and a pen was tapping away at the clipboard's head, signaling irritation on the sergeant's part. Hundreds of MAC Stations floated aimlessly about, while numerous frigates would zip past in a wink. On rare occasions, fat cruisers escorted by Longsword squadrons would drift past the station.

Earth had been receiving ships from surviving UNSC colonies all morning. Weapon production on Earth had increased drastically, and the UNSC had begun to enforce the draft. Thousands of fresh-faced marines were the result.

The sergeant, bored of whatever he was doing on his board, took a peak outside in a futile effort to procrastinate. His work did not interest him at all.

A frigate was coming out of slipspace. It was badly crippled and limped forwards for several seconds before halting its slow advancement. Several other frigates that floated near it moved away from the wounded ship, creating a large space big enough to fit several dozen UNSC Marathon-class cruisers in.

The frigates that motioned away from their beaten-up sister turned around, aiming their MAC muzzles at the space that had just been created. The Longsword presence had increased dramatically as well.

Suddenly, the ship-free space lit up like a barrage of fireworks. Numerous flashes, at least a dozen, began blinking into existence. When the flashing died off, twelve ships of unrecognized design stood firm against the impressive amount of ordinance aimed at them.

The sergeant, unsure of what was going on, motioned for the chief to have a look. He came over, taking great, powerful strides. Both humans could only watch as the fleet of unknown vessels was escorted by UNSC craft to a series of orbital docks nestled between two MAC Stations.

"Hell, they're just probably more ships coming in from Mars. Command did say they were rerouting a group or two to Earth to reinforce Harper's force."

With that said, the sergeant returned to his work.

The Master Chief was not convinced that these craft were not from Mars, nor from any UNSC colony on record. Using his suit's systems, the SPARTAN zoomed in on the nearest craft as it passed _Cairo Station_. Its lumbering bulk unexpectedly rotated, and for a brief second, the super soldier caught the ship's name.

"_Erasmus."_

It loomed onward, followed by seven other ships of similar design. All of them appeared to be armed, with the exception of four others who were being escorted away by two UNSC frigates. The four ships seemed to be civilian ships, and were most likely being led to a place where they could be safely unloaded.

**Earth/ Defense Grid/ **_Cairo _**Station/ Hangar A-02**

Lord Admiral Hood awaited the arrivals in one of his stations many hangers, his arms folded behind his back. On both of flanks stood several squads of UNSC Marines armed with battle rifles and assault rifles. The sergeants wielded shotguns. In the hanger were several Pelicans, and a few Scorpion tanks that had been scheduled to be shipped down to the surface to reinforce several garrisons defending Cairo.

Judging from the report given by Captain Sinclair, the Colonials had seemingly appeared out of nowhere near Mars. Apparently, they were running from a race of mechanical-like beings called "Cylons". They had encountered the Covenant several hours before encountering Sinclair and his frigate, and had successfully destroyed a CCS-battlecruiser by interlocking fire with eight warships called "battlestars". Attempting to know more about the Covenant, the battlestars split up, leaving behind two warships to pick at the carcass of the Covenant warship, while the others continued forward with several civilian ships that managed to avoid the Cylon assault on the "Colonies of Kobold". The remaining battlestars dispatched teams of Colonial Marines to board and investigate the crippled ship, but were overwhelmed when the Covenant caught wind of their presence. The marines, suffering heavy losses, retreated back to their ships and fell back to their battlestars.

But before the battlestars could come up with further plans involving the alien craft, twelve Covenant warships exited slipspace—apparently summoned by a signal sent by the wounded cruiser. The Covenant opened fire upon the ships. Vastly outnumbered and horribly outgunned, the Colonials launched twelve nuclear missiles at the dying CCS-battlecruiser in an attempt to destroy the evidence. The ships promptly jumped out of whatever system they were in, and regrouped with the fleet.

Intel on weapons capabilities was slim, and the defensive capabilities the battlestars had was unknown. It was theorized that the guns used on the warships were electrothermal accelerators—weapons that used plasma instead of conventional chemicals to deliver a payload. This process allowed them to fire projectiles faster than their chemical-based sisters. The handheld weapons utilized by the Colonials seemed projectile-based, and appeared to be dated (yet effective) versions of UNSC infantry weaponry.

Whether or not the twelve Covenant ships followed them back to Earth was unknown. Regardless, the civilians they harbored were allowed to settle into Earth. Their ships were stored in military warehouses away from the peering eyes of the public, and every Colonial civilian was ordered to keep silent when asked questions by anyone who was not an officer of the UNSC or an ONI agent. At first they protested, but their eight protectors managed to calm them.

The report also told of how Captain Sinclair and the Colonials had collaborated in conducting numerous tests to determine if they were both related.

They were, and the news prompted the UNSC to aid and accept aid from the newcomers. It also spun the heads of Hood's superiors.

Now Lord Admiral Hood was tasked with meeting with the eight captains who commanded the eight warships, and had to decide what was to be done with them. As a cover-up story for their discovery, the Colonials were depicted as being survivors of Reach. Obeying the Cole Protocol, the survivors jumped to random locations, and later regrouped to form a self-fledging fleet. When the Covenant drove the UNSC back to the Sol System, the Cole Protocol was rendered utterly useless, prompting them to return to Earth. As for their unusual ship designs, the ships were described as "older models taken out of Reach's underground facilities". The models were "ships used during the Rain Forest Wars", and "had been modified for slipspace technology, enabling them to make the journey back to Earth".

"ONI is trying to keep this situation under the bridge," thought Hood as he tapped his foot on the cold, metal flooring of his station.

He and several other high-ranking officials were the only individuals who knew ONI's plans. They were also the ones who were going to find out just who the Colonials were, and where they hailed from.

The hatch opened, and out stepped a team of soldiers dressed in black armor. They were not ODSTs, but Colonial Marines. There were only six of them, resulting in the UNSC Marines outnumbering three to one. Eight men and women walked behind them. Some were middle-aged, while others seemed as old as Lord Admiral Hood himself. The majority however, were young.

Tension could be seen between the UNSC Marines and the Colonial Marines. An order barked from the oldest looking Colonial captain stowed the weapons of his men. Lord Admiral Hood did the same.

"You must be Captain Saul Tigh," Hood said, extending his hand to shake.

Saul gripped it firmly while still looking the man in the eyes. "That's right. You must be Lord Admiral Terence Hood. One hell of a fleet you got in your hands I should say."

Greetings went around, and it wasn't long before Hood knew all of the names of the eight captains, as well as the names of the ships they commanded. He wasn't sure if he could remember them all, but an effort on his part was sure to fix that.

"I welcome you to Earth, Colonials," Hood began. "As Captain Sinclair may have already mentioned, this is the last stronghold the UNSC currently holds under its arm. This is Humanity's stronghold, and it is here that we will make our last stand. Come, walk with me."

The teams of marines were ordered to remain in the hanger. The idea did not sit well with them, but their superiors were certain they would get along in no time at all.

"The report given to me by Captain Sinclair has mentioned little of your ships' combat and defensive capabilities, but they obviously must have been enough considering you effectively took out a Covenant warship."

Saul Tigh grunted. "Well that's true. The damn things were tough. From what I've seen, we've got the armor to go toe-to-toe with these alien bastards, but not the weapons. The only reason why we managed to walk away from that fight was because we had strength in numbers."

The group rounded a corner. Several crew personnel mingled about, mopping up stains from the floor of Hood's station, or fiddling around with wires hanging out of an open access panel. The crew took a gander at the eight captains for several seconds, observing their non-UNSC uniforms, before returning to their work.

"Well I aim to fix that," Hood began. "Turns out our production facilities have a surplus in MAC platforms."

"_MAC_ platforms…?" Kara asked.

"Magnetic Accelerator Cannon," Hood answered. "They're the standard weapon used to combat Covenant warships. We have ten frigate MACS—enough to arm five of your warships with two each."

Saul raised an eyebrow in surprise. "First of all, where would you put ordinance like that? And second, why two? Why not distribute one to each of our ships?"

"Well, because frigate MAC platforms are weaker than the platforms used onboard our largest ships. Alone, they're too weak to damage the Covenant's largest ships, but in pairs they can get the job done."

"The only place I could imagine installing these guns," began Lee. "Is in the pods our ships use to distribute and retrieve our fighter craft. We install these guns and we lose our greatest means of defense _and _attack."

"The pods are the best place to place them though," Tigh argued. "Those who have the MACS could retract them when they're not in use, protecting them from enemy fire. Not only that, but cutting too many holes in our battlestars could weaken the internal structures. A good of majority of you have newer generation battlestars that can take that kind of abuse. Us old farts can stick to our carrier roles."

"Hell, what about the vipers then? Where will we put them?" Captain Silv asked.

"Add them to our stockpiles." Tigh answered.

"But where the frak will you fit that many birds?" Captain Nea chimed in. "The pods can only hold so many fighters. You add more and you could make liftoff and landing operations even more complicated than they already are. There could be accidents."

"Why don't we just cut out a portion of the pods then? Weaken the armor that points to the main part of the battlestar's hull. That way the exposed bits won't take damage, and you have some wiggle room for those fighters. Hell, we could even fit a couple of the UNSC's fighters in there if we plan it right." Lee answered.

Saul rubbed his chin with his hand. "Now hold it, how long will all of this take? We're talking about redesigning our ships here."

Everyone turned to Lord Hood.

"That depends on how much resistance whatever alloy your ships are forged with gives us. Plus, we'll have to set in some reactors to power them. This operation could take a week at best to a month at worse. And who knows when the Covenant will come to claim their prize…"

The group talked for several more minutes, discussing the issue revolving around the cannons. It was soon decided that the new battlestars would mount the guns, and act as heavy assault warships that would stick close to the MACS that formed the outer defense ring. The older models would distribute fighter support, and open fire on any and all incoming enemy craft that happened to somehow slip past the outer ring. Admiral Steve Harper, the man who commanded most of the UNSC Home Fleet and took direct orders from Lord Admiral Hood, would not command the battlestars. Instead, _Admiral _Saul Tigh would command them.

Work on the battlestars began at once. The metal proved to be heavily resilient to tampering, but UNSC technician crews (under the watchful eye and strict guidance of the battlestars' engineer crews) managed to burn and mold the metal into the desirable shapes.

All of this went on for two weeks.

During that time, the UNSC Marines instructed the Colonial Marines (all 10,000 of them) in how to combat the various Covenant species. Weapons, vehicles and armor were issued as well. Most of them consisted of tanks and sniper rifles, as well as SPARTAN lasers and UNSC Marine combat armor, which proved _far_ superior to the armor worn by the Colonials. Despite warnings from their superiors, the Colonial Marines, uninterested in being falsely identified as UNSC Marines, painted their armor black and grey. The ODSTs were not fond of this decision, calling the Colonial Marines "Wannabe Troopers". Fistfights were often the result, and harsh punishments were dished out accordingly for the rash acts exhibited by both sides.

Many agreed that fighting alongside one another would be the only way to create good standings between all three infantry types.

Viper pilots and their CAGS trained alongside UNSC Longsword crews in how to combat Covenant Seraph fighters. Because of their weaker weapons and lighter armor, the Vipers had to rely on their ability to work as a team to overcome their larger and faster Covenant foes. A system was soon devised, where specific Longswords would fly alongside four or five Vipers. The massive UNSC fighter would chose a target to attack, and like a pack of angry dogs, the Vipers would feast, completely overwhelming the Seraph's shields. Using the Longsword's wretched 110mm guns, the Covenant fighter would be torn to shreds in a matter of seconds.

UNSC captains instructed the captains of the battlestars in how to utilize their MAC cannons to the best of their effect. This ultimately required an AI, which, due to the religious beliefs of the Colonials and their superstitious ways (as well as their deep hatred for the Cylons), caused a massive uproar that nearly caused a colossal shootout between UNSC frigates and Colonial battlestars. Only through the combined efforts of Captain Nea and Captain Sinclair was the problem resolved, and AIs were allowed to merge with the CICs of the five battlestars. The AIs were all "smart", which further agitated the captains.

Two days after the modifications to the battlestars were completed, something exceptionally odd happened. Three ships resembling battlestars had suddenly appeared over Africa, with a forth ship bearing UNSC design. Two of the battlestars were puny compared to the other, but another was larger than all of the battlestars the UNSC had encountered thus far. The forth ship was a battered UNSC Maraton-cruiser.

Lord Hood, observing from the bridge of another station that he was personally inspecting, read the name of the Marathon's hull, and could not believe his aged eyes.

"That's just not possible—_he's_ supposed to be _dead_."

It was as though a ghost ship had emerged from the deep void that was space.

Captain Saul Tigh, who was speaking to a UNSC captain regarding combat tactics and their favored brandies aboard the UNSC frigate _Hear Me Roar_, looked at the view screen, and began to fill with rage.

"That frakking bastard decided to show his _face_? That Godsdamn traitor! THAT FRAKKING COWARD?" Saul roared.

**And so comes a meager cliff hanger! Two chapters back–to-back! Who could these unexpected newcomers be? Ten points to anyone who can guess who the captain of that Marathon is lol. **

**Also, regarding the recent reviews I've gotten: Most of them seem to be complaints about why X should not be able to defeat Y, or how Y is vastly inferior to X. Some reviews were helpful and legitimate complaints, and those will be taken into consideration. I have responded to many of these reviews. While I take everything involving space battles into account (captaining abilities and such), some things have to be speculated due to lack of canon materiel available. Some things were changed to fit the story I envisioned. **

**Take note that this is fanfiction, not a Factpile or SpaceBattles article or forum post. This is for entertainment purposes only, not to see who could clobber who. **

**Also, feel free to point out any typos you come across in this chapter and the previous chapters. **

**Hints on how to make this Fanfic sick are also highly valued. **

**-Axemen**


	6. I Welcome You To Earth, Colonials

**Earth/ Defense Grid/** _Cairo Station_/ Armory

The Master Chief had just finished running over the basics of his suit's operations. Several small-scale tests for his newly acquired Mark VI armor were also conducted. The gunnery sergeant who had helped run the diagnostics was leaning against a frame that contained a window that provided a view over Earth. A clipboard was in his hands, and a pen was tapping away at the clipboard's head, signaling irritation on the sergeant's part. Hundreds of MAC Stations floated aimlessly about, while numerous frigates would zip past in a wink. On rare occasions, fat cruisers escorted by Longsword squadrons would drift past the station.

Earth had been receiving ships from surviving UNSC colonies all morning. Weapon production on Earth had increased drastically, and the UNSC had begun to enforce the draft. Thousands of fresh-faced marines were the result.

The sergeant, bored of whatever he was doing on his board, took a peak outside in a futile effort to procrastinate. His work did not interest him at all.

A frigate was coming out of slipspace. It was badly crippled and limped forwards for several seconds before halting its slow advancement. Several other frigates that floated near it moved away from the wounded ship, creating a large space big enough to fit several dozen UNSC Marathon-class cruisers in.

The frigates that motioned away from their beaten-up sister turned around, aiming their MAC muzzles at the space that had just been created. The Longsword presence had increased dramatically as well.

Suddenly, the ship-free space lit up like a barrage of fireworks. Numerous flashes, at least a dozen, began blinking into existence. When the flashing died off, twelve ships of unrecognized design stood firm against the impressive amount of ordinance aimed at them.

The sergeant, unsure of what was going on, motioned for the chief to have a look. He came over, taking great, powerful strides. Both humans could only watch as the fleet of unknown vessels was escorted by UNSC craft to a series of orbital docks nestled between two MAC Stations.

"Hell, they're just probably more ships coming in from Mars. Command did say they were rerouting a group or two to Earth to reinforce Harper's force."

With that said, the sergeant returned to his work.

The Master Chief was not convinced that these craft were not from Mars, nor from any UNSC colony on record. Using his suit's systems, the SPARTAN zoomed in on the nearest craft as it passed _Cairo Station_. Its lumbering bulk unexpectedly rotated, and for a brief second, the super soldier caught the ship's name.

"_Erasmus."_

It loomed onward, followed by seven other ships of similar design. All of them appeared to be armed, with the exception of four others who were being escorted away by two UNSC frigates. The four ships seemed to be civilian ships, and were most likely being led to a place where they could be safely unloaded.

Earth/ Defense Grid/ _Cairo Station_/ Hangar A-02

Lord Admiral Hood awaited the arrivals in one of his stations many hangers, his arms folded behind his back. On both of flanks stood several squads of UNSC Marines armed with battle rifles and assault rifles. The sergeants wielded shotguns. In the hanger were several Pelicans, and a few Scorpion tanks that had been scheduled to be shipped down to the surface to reinforce several garrisons defending Cairo.

Judging from the report given by Captain Sinclair, the Colonials had seemingly appeared out of nowhere near Mars. Apparently, they were running from a race of mechanical-like beings called "Cylons". They had encountered the Covenant several hours before encountering Sinclair and his frigate, and had successfully destroyed a CCS-battlecruiser by interlocking fire with eight warships called "battlestars". Attempting to know more about the Covenant, the battlestars split up, leaving behind two warships to pick at the carcass of the Covenant warship, while the others continued forward with several civilian ships that managed to avoid the Cylon assault on the "Colonies of Kobold". The remaining battlestars dispatched teams of Colonial Marines to board and investigate the crippled ship, but were overwhelmed when the Covenant caught wind of their presence. The marines, suffering heavy losses, retreated back to their ships and fell back to their battlestars.

But before the battlestars could come up with further plans involving the alien craft, twelve Covenant warships exited slipspace—apparently summoned by a signal sent by the wounded cruiser. The Covenant opened fire upon the ships. Vastly outnumbered and horribly outgunned, the Colonials launched twelve nuclear missiles at the dying CCS-battlecruiser in an attempt to destroy the evidence. The ships promptly jumped out of whatever system they were in, and regrouped with the fleet.

Intel on weapons capabilities was slim, and the defensive capabilities the battlestars had was unknown. It was theorized that the guns used on the warships were electrothermal accelerators—weapons that used plasma instead of conventional chemicals to deliver a payload. This process allowed them to fire projectiles faster than their chemical-based sisters. The handheld weapons utilized by the Colonials seemed projectile-based, and appeared to be dated (yet effective) versions of UNSC infantry weaponry.

Whether or not the twelve Covenant ships followed them back to Earth was unknown. Regardless, the civilians they harbored were allowed to settle into Earth. Their ships were stored in military warehouses away from the peering eyes of the public, and every Colonial civilian was ordered to keep silent when asked questions by anyone who was not an officer of the UNSC or an ONI agent. At first they protested, but their eight protectors managed to calm them.

The report also told of how Captain Sinclair and the Colonials had collaborated in conducting numerous tests to determine if they were both related.

They were, and the news prompted the UNSC to aid and accept aid from the newcomers. It also spun the heads of Hood's superiors.

Now Lord Admiral Hood was tasked with meeting with the eight captains who commanded the eight warships, and had to decide what was to be done with them. As a cover-up story for their discovery, the Colonials were depicted as being survivors of Reach. Obeying the Cole Protocol, the survivors jumped to random locations, and later regrouped to form a self-fledging fleet. When the Covenant drove the UNSC back to the Sol System, the Cole Protocol was rendered utterly useless, prompting them to return to Earth. As for their unusual ship designs, the ships were described as "older models taken out of Reach's underground facilities". The models were "ships used during the Rain Forest Wars, and had been modified for slipspace technology, enabling them to make the journey back to Earth".

"ONI is trying to keep this situation under the bridge," thought Hood as he tapped his foot on the cold, metal flooring of his station.

He and several other high-ranking officials were the only individuals who knew ONI's plans. They were also the ones who were going to find out just who the Colonials were, and where they hailed from.

The hatch opened, and out stepped a team of soldiers dressed in black armor. They were not ODSTs, but Colonial Marines. There were only six of them, resulting in the UNSC Marines outnumbering three to one. Eight men and women walked behind them. Some were middle-aged, while others seemed as old as Lord Admiral Hood himself. The majority however, were young.

Tension could be seen between the UNSC Marines and the Colonial Marines. An order barked from the oldest looking Colonial captain stowed the weapons of his men. Lord Admiral Hood did the same.

"You must be Captain Saul Tigh," Hood said, extending his hand to shake.

Saul gripped it firmly while still looking the man in the eyes. "That's right. You must be Lord Admiral Terence Hood. One hell of a fleet you got in your hands I should say."

Greetings went around, and it wasn't long before Hood knew all of the names of the eight captains, as well as the names of the ships they commanded. He wasn't sure if he could remember them all, but an effort on his part was sure to fix that.

"I welcome you to Earth, Colonials," Hood began. "As Captain Sinclair may have already mentioned, this is the last stronghold the UNSC currently holds under its arm. This is Humanity's stronghold, and it is here that we will make our last stand. Come, walk with me."

The teams of marines were ordered to remain in the hanger. The idea did not sit well with them, but their superiors were certain they would get along in no time at all.

"The report given to me by Captain Sinclair has mentioned little of your ships' combat and defensive capabilities, but they obviously must have been enough considering you effectively took out a Covenant warship."

Saul Tigh grunted. "Well that's true. The damn things were tough. From what I've seen, we've got the armor to go toe-to-toe with these alien bastards, but not the weapons. The only reason why we managed to walk away from that fight was because we had strength in numbers."

The group rounded a corner. Several crew personnel mingled about, mopping up stains from the floor of Hood's station, or fiddling around with wires hanging out of an open access panel. The crew took a gander at the eight captains for several seconds, observing their non-UNSC uniforms, before returning to their work.

"Well I aim to fix that," Hood began. "Turns out our production facilities have a surplus in MAC platforms."

"_MAC_ platforms…?" Kara asked.

"Magnetic Accelerator Cannon," Hood answered. "They're the standard weapon used to combat Covenant warships. We have ten frigate MACS—enough to arm five of your warships with two each."

Saul raised an eyebrow in surprise. "First of all, where would you put ordinance like that? And second, why two? Why not distribute one to each of our ships?"

"Well, because frigate MAC platforms are weaker than the platforms used onboard our largest ships. Alone, they're too weak to damage the Covenant's largest ships, but combined they can get the job done. Not only that, but from what you've told us, your ships duel act as carriers."

"The only place I could imagine installing these guns," began Lee. "Is in the pods our ships use to distribute and retrieve our fighter craft. We install these guns and we lose our greatest means of defense _and _attack."

"The pods are the best place to place them though," Tigh argued. "Those who have the MACS could retract them when they're not in use, protecting them from enemy fire. Not only that, but cutting too many holes in our battlestars could weaken the internal structures. A good of majority of you have newer generation battlestars that can take that kind of abuse. Us old farts can stick to our carrier roles."

"Hell, what about the vipers then? Where will we put them?" Captain Silv asked.

"Add them to our stockpiles." Tigh answered.

"But where the frak will you fit that many birds?" Captain Nea chimed in. "The pods can only hold so many fighters. You add more and you could make liftoff and landing operations even more complicated than they already are. There could be accidents."

"Why don't we just cut out a portion of the pods then? Weaken the armor that points to the main part of the battlestar's hull. That way the exposed bits won't take damage, and you have some wiggle room for those fighters." Lee answered.

Saul rubbed his chin with his hand. "Now hold it, how long will all of this take? We're talking about redesigning our ships here."

Everyone turned to Lord Hood.

"That depends on how much resistance whatever alloy your ships are forged with gives us. Plus, we'll have to set in some reactors to power them. This operation could take a week at best to a month at worse. And who knows when the Covenant will come to claim their prize…"

The group talked for several more minutes, discussing the issue revolving around the cannons. It was soon decided that the new battlestars would mount the guns, and act as heavy assault warships that would stick close to the MACS that formed the outer defense ring. The older models would distribute fighter support, and open fire on any and all incoming enemy craft that happened to somehow slip past the outer ring. Admiral Steve Harper, the man who commanded most of the UNSC Home Fleet and took direct orders from Lord Admiral Hood, would not command the battlestars. Instead, _Admiral _Saul Tigh would command them.

Work on the battlestars began at once. The metal proved to be heavily resilient to tampering, but UNSC technician crews (under the watchful eye and strict guidance of the battlestars' engineer crews) managed to burn and mold the metal into the desirable shapes.

All of this went on for two weeks.

During that time, the UNSC Marines instructed the Colonial Marines (all 10,000 of them) in how to combat the various Covenant species. Weapons, vehicles and armor were issued as well. Most of them consisted of tanks and sniper rifles, as well as SPARTAN lasers and UNSC Marine combat armor, which proved _far_ superior to the armor worn by the Colonials. Despite warnings from their superiors, the Colonial Marines, uninterested in being falsely identified as UNSC Marines, painted their armor black and grey. The ODSTs were not fond of this decision, calling the Colonial Marines "Wannabe Troopers". Fistfights were often the result, and harsh punishments were dished out accordingly for the rash acts exhibited by both sides.

Many agreed that fighting alongside one another would be the only way to create good standings between all three infantry types.

Viper pilots and their CAGS trained alongside UNSC Longsword crews in how to combat Covenant Seraph fighters. Because of their weaker weapons and lighter armor, the vipers had to rely on their ability to work as a team to overcome their larger and faster Covenant foes. A system was soon devised, where specific Longswords would fly alongside four or five vipers. The massive UNSC fighter would chose a target to attack, and like a pack of angry dogs, the vipers would feast, completely overwhelming the Seraph's shields. Using the Longsword's wretched 110mm guns, the Covenant fighter would be torn to shreds in a matter of seconds.

UNSC captains instructed the captains of the battlestars in how to utilize their MAC cannons to the best of effect. This ultimately required an AI, which, due to the religious beliefs of the Colonials and their superstitious ways, caused a massive uproar that nearly caused a colossal shootout between UNSC frigates and Colonial battlestars. Only through the combined efforts of Captain Nea and Captain Sinclair was the problem resolved, and AIs were allowed to merge with the CICs of the five battlestars. The AIs were all "smart", which further agitated the captains.

Two days after the modifications to the battlestars were completed, something exceptionally odd happened. Three ships resembling battlestars had suddenly appeared over Africa, with a forth ship bearing UNSC design. Two of the battlestars were puny compared to the other, but another was larger than all of the battlestars the UNSC had encountered thus far. The forth ship was a battered UNSC Maraton-cruiser.

Lord Hood, observing from the bridge of another station that he was personally inspecting, read the name of the Marathon's hull, and could not believe his aged eyes.

"That's just not possible—_he's_ supposed to be _dead_."

It was as though a ghost ship had emerged from the deep void that was space.

Captain Saul Tigh, who was speaking to a UNSC captain regarding combat tactics and their favored brandies aboard the UNSC frigate _Hear Me Roar_, looked at the view screen, and began to fill with rage.

"That frakking bastard decided to show his _face_? That Godsdamn traitor! THAT FRAKKING COWARD?" Saul roared.

**And so comes a meager cliff hanger! Two chapters back–to-back! Who could these unexpected newcomers be? Ten points to anyone who can guess who the captain of that Marathon is lol. **

**Also, regarding the recent reviews I've gotten: Most of them seem to be complaints about why X should not be able to defeat Y, or how Y is vastly inferior to X. Some reviews were helpful and legitimate complaints, and those will be taken into consideration. I have responded to many of these reviews. While I take everything involving space battles into account (captaining abilities and such), some things have to be speculated due to lack of canon materiel available. Some things were changed to fit the story I envisioned. **

**Take note that this is fanfiction, not a Factpile or SpaceBattles article or forum post. This is for entertainment purposes only, not to see who could clobber who. **

**Also, feel free to point out any typos you come across in this chapter and the previous chapters. **

**Hints on how to make this Fanfic sick are also highly valued. **

**-Axemen**


	7. The Return of Admiral Cole

**Sol System/Earth Home Fleet/**_Cairo___**Station/ Bridge **

Hood opened a channel to the stations and ships he had chosen moments after the battlestars and their lone Marathon-class cruiser leader entered Earth space.

"I want that group led in by _Texas_ and _Vindicate_," he said, with faint evidence of awe and shock in his voice. "Tell them to keep their distance. I want stations _Zulu _and _Rome_ on standby for firing operations. Tell them that if they even get a whiff of shit, open up."

Lord Admiral Hood was not taking any chances with his new arrivals—even with Cole. Admiral Saul Tigh could not stress it enough how important it was to keep a watchful eye on Battlestar _Bezerk_ and its guardians.

From Saul's information, the battlestar's captain, Admiral Atlas, was a man who was heavily built both physically and mentally— but his mentality was that of a scoundrel. Eager to sacrifice those under him to achieve his own gains, he was not to be trusted at all.

Hood was not worried about Atlas; he would let Saul and his companions deal with him, and if things went askew, their battlestars would make short work of him. What he was concerned with was that a living legend had just passed through his gates…a legend who, for all intensive purposes, was not supposed to be alive.

"Admiral Cole you bastard, how did you do it…"Lord Hood thought to himself, recalling what the Admiral had done in the past.

Two-hundred Covenant ships fell to Cole's brilliant thinking, making his ship the most famous out of every UNSC and Covenant vessel to ever exist. The Covenant had taken note of Cole's deeds, and most likely considered him to be an otherworldly monster—much like the SPARTANS.

Hood watched as two Marathon-class cruisers drifted closer to the group. The _Everest_, Cole's modified Marathon-class warship, halted its advancement. The three battlestars did so as well. After authorization was given from their superior, the Marathon-class cruisers led Admiral Cole's ship to an abandoned shipyard, where it docked, and was soon boarded by UNSC ODSTs. The ODSTs had been ordered to move through the ship and check for any suspicious activity. Perhaps the Covenant had taken control of the ship, and had planted a bomb within in its hull with the intent of weakening the defenses around Earth.

Battlestar _Bezerk_ and her protectors were taken by Battlestar _Columbia _and Battlestar _Athena_. Each ship was boarded by Colonial Marines who were ordered to seize the captains and bring them aboard _Columbia _for questioning.

**Battlestar **_Bezerk/_**CIC**

Admiral Atlas had never had this many rifles aimed at him before. Colonial Marines from battlestar _Columbia_ had been dispatched to seize him and scour the ship for anything that could potentially harm Earth or her people.

Columbia's marines did not don the traditional dress worn by his marines. They wore armor that was a mix of grey fatigues and reinforced metal plates that were scraped and worn, and painted black. Their helmets seemed to be fashioned from the same materiel the plates were, but the helmets still bore the goggles as well as the traditional shape basic Colonial Marine helmets normally exhibited. On the left shoulder plate was the Colonial Symbol, with each marine's respected battlestar of origin's name underneath.

"I see the UNSC has been treating you roughnecks well," Atlas said, taking out a cigar and lighting it.

The marines did not respond. Their weapons, a mix assortment of M90 CAWs, MA5B ICWSs, Colonial Marine Mossberg 500s, and Colonial Marine Cx4 Storm Carbines were all pointed at Admiral Atlas. Taking a quick glance at the massive array of ordinance pointed at him, the captain surrendered his sidearm, and slid it across one of the many control panels that darted his ship's CIC. It was quickly snatched up by one of the marines.

Two men stepped out from the group of marines and handcuffed the admiral. The admiral was a large man, standing almost seven feet all, and weighing nearly three-hundred pounds—enabling him to tower over everyone in the room. He was a middle-aged man, and had rough-looking skin that gave off evidence to being burned some time ago.

The marines onboard _Bezerk _were captured as well as the crew. The same procedures that had been carried out aboard _Bezerk _were also carried out on the smaller ships that protected it. In all, over two-thousand crew personnel had been rounded up, and a force of over one-thousand marines had been thrown into the brig.

No one put up any resistance, despite Saul Tigh's warnings.

_Bezerk _and her escorts, gutted of their crews, marines and over sixty-two nuclear missiles, were towed to Shipyard _Yamada_, a UNSC shipyard designed to accommodate battlestars, where they would wait until further notice. If the admiral was deemed an ally, his men and nuclear weapons would be returned to him.

For now, the admiral was being led down to a waiting room where Admiral Saul Tigh and Captain Lee Adama resided.

**Sol System/Earth Home Fleet/**_Cairo___**Station/ Brig**

Cole's crew personnel had been treated to dinner in _Cairo's _mess hall as a welcome home gift. Cole, skipping out on the dinner, had heeded Lord Admiral Hood's request for a formal meeting. While the brig was the least desirable place for two individuals of high value, it was the only place not crawling with lower-ranking UNSC soldiers or navy men.

The two men sat opposite each other, with only a metal table and an overhead light in between them. Cole's face looked worn and aged, although not changed when Hood compared a photo of him to the actual Cole. While numerically he was 82, Cole appeared to only be in his late forties. 

Spending time in Cryo sleep worked wonders on the human body, and no doubt most of his crew operated under similar circumstances.

"Lackluster and Phoenix gave mention that there was a ninety percent chance you survived Cole. Where have you been all these years?" Hood asked, leaning across the table.

Cole rubbed his forehead. "Away, sir," Cole began. "I always dreamed of settling down somewhere. After I destroyed that Covenant fleet at Psi Serpent, I jumped to a random location—following my own protocol. My crew and I came across a planet that held a climate similar to Earth's. We were hoping to land there, set up a base, and possibly locate a UNSC colony to link up with when we got our heads screwed on right, but we found the planet to be…occupied and under attack. "

"Occupied?" Hood asked.

"By the Colonials," Cole said. "The same people you harbor here—_Caprica _they called it. It was under siege by these machines…what did they call them..."

"Cylons I take it." Hood said, answering Preston's question.

"Yes, them," Cole said. "I had my ship engage the enemy craft, assisting the Colonial warships that were still left in the fight. The ships we fired upon were frail and easily taken out by the MAC, but by the time the Colonials could muster up a respectable defense of Caprica, the enemy warships had already done their dirty work and nuked the world, as well as let loose hundreds of fighters. There wasn't much my Longswords could do against numbers like that."

"So what happened next?"

"Caprica was on the verge of falling, so several of the Colonial warships jumped out of system in an effort to escape and form a ragtag fleet for a counterstrike. Caprica, I later learned, wasn't the only colony that was hit, and dozens of battlestars were possibly roaming around. The fleet I originally journeyed with consisted of more ships than what appeared today, but we got ambushed by more Cylons when the fleet stopped to restock up on Tylium, a substance the Colonials use to fuel their ships. There were too many, and rather than sit around and get picked off, my ship and three others retreated, leaving two others to be destroyed."

Cole had aimed to escape the harsh realities of war, but instead was thrust into a new war that was waged between a people he had never encountered before, and an enemy he had never battled before. Their war led him right back into the arms of the UNSC—right back into the jaws of the Covenant.

"However, our jumps didn't synchronize correctly, and once again I was alone. Only later would I manage to find Battlestar _Bezerk_ and its two escorts. Several months would pass until we found Earth."

"I see," Hood said, digesting what Cole had just finished saying.

Captain Sinclair was not the first to encounter the Colonials, and this wasn't the first time he had heard stories of the Colonials being pursued by enemy forces. It was one possibility that they had led the Covenant to Earth.

It was another if the Cylons managed to find it as well.

He doubted a three-way engagement would favor anyone. Hood began wondering if the Colonials were more trouble than they were worth.

"Well, I can't have you shot for breaking the protocol, because the Covenant have more or less found Earth, and I can't throw you in the brig for deserting because you're one of our most valued captains. We need every hand we can get. Cole, we need you on the frontlines. We need you to lead."

Cole was a war-weary soul, but seeing Earth threatened by the enemy he had learned to hate for so long pressed him to rejoin the UNSC.

"I knew you'd ask me that sir," Cole said. "I managed to convince Admiral Atlas and the captains under him to surrender their vessels in an effort to reinforce what forces you had here. In exchange for their services, they'd like to nest here for a while…if we manage to get out of this alive that is."

"Then it's settled. I'll have Harper sign over half of his forces to you. He's also requested to meet with you—as well as half of the damn Navy. You'd be amazed how your presence has affected the men. At first they were scared silly, but now they're acting like they could take on the entire Covenant navy. Even the Colonials are awed, and they haven't heard of you up until now."

"Well I kind of expected that sir." Cole said, sounding unsurprised.

**Sol System/ Jupiter/Io/ Io Station**

Several men and women were scurrying about within Io Station's command centre. They were in a frantic state and were working hard to double-check what their scanners had picked up. They hoped what they heard wasn't what they heard, but when the readouts were checked again, the same result resurfaced.

The slipspace whispers mimicked those often seen during Covenant jump cycles. They did not belong to the ships of the UNSC and they did not belong to the ships used by the survivors of Reach.

The station went on full alert, broadcasting the dreadful news to Earth's defenders. Multiple warships began dropping out of slipspace, and were roaring towards Earth at frightening speeds.

**Sol System/Earth Surface**

The news spread quickly throughout the planet. Some retreated deep underground with the intent of feeling secure, while others armed themselves and prepared for war. Like an animal trapped in a corner, Humanity would become exceptionally vicious in a very short amount of time when the Covenant finally came to ravage the surface. Billions hoped and prayed that the men and women both in space and on the ground could shield them from the seemingly unstoppable tide that bubbled up from nowhere nearly twenty-eight years ago. Men protected their homes by barricading them, while business buildings were taken over by massive groups of marines with the intent of using them as bases. The Colonial Marines that were still in training on the surface in Mexico were redirected to specific locations around the world where strength was needed. While there were not many of them available, all hands were ordered to participate.

**Sol System/Earth Orbit**

Because of the dire situation that was beginning to unfold, Admiral Atlas was allowed to return to his ship. Cole had mentioned to Admiral Saul Tigh that the admiral was to be trusted, as he had showed great bravery at Caprica. Admiral Hood verified this with the information Preston had shared with him during their meeting. The nuclear stockpile that was stripped from Battlestar _Bezerk _was reissued to it, as well as its crew and its supply of marines. The ships that protected _Bezerk_ were also reequipped.

The defense would center on protecting the MAC installations while they chipped away at the Covenant fleet. The MAC Stations, capable of downing even the most powerful of Covenant warships in a single shot, would be the greatest offensive asset the UNSC would have during its last stand.

During their redesigning, the Colonial warships had taken on new classes. The five Mercury-class battlestars had been designated as "Thor-class assaultstars", and were instructed to protect Lord Admiral Hood's MAC station from harm. The three older modelshad been redesigned to hold more Vipers and a few Longswords, and were to offer support to Hood's five guard dogs. The Marathon-class cruisers, held by Fleet Admiral Harper and Fleet Admiral Cole and several lower ranking officers were to spearhead the counterattack when the enemy forces came into range. Both Admirals combined commanded nearly ninety percent of the UNSC Home Fleet, while Hood held the MAC Stations under his wing and a handful of frigates.

Admiral Atlas was not under the command of Saul Tigh, but was instead instructed to join a force of frigates stationed near a cluster of MAC Stations drifting above Africa. _Bezerk, _while not armed with any MAC-based weaponry, had plundered numerous pieces of armor from destroyed battlestars and combined the pieces to its main hull, enabling it to take increased amounts of damage from enemy fire. It also held the highest nuclear stockpile, which totaled over thirty-six nuclear missiles. _Bezerk's _smaller sister ships, Valkyrie-class battlestars, were much smaller than even the battlestars used during the First Cylon War. Because of their lack of armor and firepower, they were to support the UNSC frigates by shooting down any Seraph fighters that were foolish enough to come within range.

As everyone drifted into their positions, the Master Chief, a battle hardened SPARTAN who had seen his fair share of warfare, was readying his assortment of weaponry. Moments ago he had been given several medals rewarding his bravery at Installation 04. Sergeant Avery Johnson and several marines under his command were also present in _Cairo's _armory_;_ they were putting the finishing touches on their selection of equipment.

When all was done, Avery lit a cigar and inhaled its fumes.

"Well son, it looks like those bastards finally want their asses kicked once and for all. You ready?"

The Master Chief gave his shotgun a good pump.

"I was always ready." he said.

The group stormed out, leaving the gunnery sergeant alone to his business.


End file.
